


Collared

by frankenmouse



Series: DA Ficlets [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, Grey Wardens, Kinda?, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:24:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenmouse/pseuds/frankenmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, the Wardens are deeded the Arling of Ameranthine at the end of DA:O. I always wondered what the Warden, and an Aeducan Warden in particular, would think of that. This is my answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collared

“…and to the Wardens I deed the Arling of Ameranthine,” finished Anora.

Alistair saw Sera’s back stiffen oh so slightly, her smile become somewhat fixed.

“A gracious gift, indeed, Your Majesty. The Wardens thank you.” Recovering, Sera bowed formally, and if her smile was a bit too bright, a bit too wide, well, he was probably the only one to notice anything out of the ordinary. His lady’s noble upbringing had made her particularly adept at hiding her reactions, as it seemed that politics—dwarven or not—were the same everywhere.

After the ceremony, during the lull between the formal presentation and the public reception, Alistair drifted over to where Sera had been lurking in a corner. Leaning comfortably on the wall next to her, he waited. Minutes passed and more than one ambitious noble started toward their corner before seeing the look on Sera’s face and rapidly veering off. Sensing that he would have to be the one to make the first overture, Alistair shifted and opened with a drawn out “So?”

She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “So?” she drawled, mimicking him.

Alistair snorted lightly. He should have known better than to expect that his occasionally prickly love would give in that easily. She hated formal events almost as much as he did, and being the center of attention at one was certain to have her in a particularly irascible mood. Still…this was something more than her habitual dislike of pomp and circumstance. He moved to give them a bit more privacy, his back angled toward the rest of the room, ever so slightly interposing himself between Sera and any curious eyes.

“So why, exactly, are you acting like Anora just gave you a particularly awful Satinalia gift?”

Sera’s jaw tightened, although her tone was light. “It seems her most gracious majesty still doesn’t trust us.”

Alistair’s brow furrowed. “What makes you say that? I mean, I’ve no doubt it’s **true** , but…”

“The Arling. If she’s deeding it to the Wardens that means that the Commander of the Grey also becomes the Arl or Arlessa of the Arling. Which means that they—“

 Alistair interrupted briefly, “You.”

Sera gave him a wry smile. “Which means that **I** owe fealty to her. It’s a collar. A rather nice collar, but a collar all the same.” Her smile shifted into something feral, and he was unpleasantly reminded of her viciousness in Orzammar. Of the canny sharpness of Princess Seranda Aeducan instead of the commanding bluntness of his Sera.

“So what will you do?” His question was hesitant. 

Sera shot him a concerned look and took a deep breath. “Nothing, for now. It’s a smart, if obvious, move and if it makes her feel safer, more in control of the situation…” She sighed. “I just thought I was **done** with this. I was groomed to be a commander, not a sodding politician. I don’t want to be an Arlessa any more than you wanted to be a King.” Her shoulders slumped slightly and she leaned more heavily against the wall at her back.

Alistair’s heart twisted at the mixture of exhaustion and defeat on her face. Oh, he knew. He’d held her through the night when her icy Princess Aeducan face had cracked and she’d wept helplessly at the ruin dwarven politics had made of her family. Seen her face when she realized Eamon intended to put him forth as King, seen her fear that politics would once again rip someone she loved away from her.

He held out his hand, “We’ll make it work, love. We have so far.”

She let him envelop her smaller hand in his, squeezing back in silent thanks. She nodded, firmly. “We’ll make it work. But…” her gaze hardened and Alistair knew that now he was looking at the Commander of the Grey, “…if she tries to cripple the Order, tries to use us as her personal army, to play politics, I will take every last one of us underground and Anora can go whistle. We gave Harrowmont a crown; I’m sure he’d be willing to give us a base of operations.”

Alistair looked down at her and smiled. They were the only two Wardens in the country but already she was thinking of “her” people, fiercely protective as any mabari. She’d been born to lead, and he’d long since promised himself that he would always be one step behind her, supporting her in any way he could.

“Yes, Commander.” He grinned at her.

She started, then scowled and moved to kick him in the shin. “None of that out of you! It’s going to be bad enough with everyone ‘ser-ing’ and ‘lady-ing’ me, I won’t suddenly have you getting all official.”

He managed (barely) to dodge out of the way. “Of course, Commander. Be careful of your foot, Commander. Wouldn’t want you hurting it on my plate, Commander.”

Sera glowered at him for another moment before smirking slightly. “Excellent point, Warden.” Uh-oh. “I’ll have to devise a more suitable punishment for later.” With that wicked smirk still on her face (he could feel himself blushing to his hairline), she grabbed his hand again, giving it another squeeze. He squeezed back and her smirk softened into something warmer.

There was still uncertainty in the future. What Weisshaupt would do once they heard that both Fereldan Wardens had survived the slaying of the archdemon. What ruling an Arling would mean for the Ferelden Order. But whatever the challenges, they would face them as they had faced every challenge over the last terrible, wonderful year.

Together.

           


End file.
